“Oh, bother the farm. It’s our honeymoon, Sposo mio.”
“I don’t think I could possibly stay away more than a fortnight.”
“What nonsense! We can’t go to Italy for a fortnight. The farm can get on without you.”
“And in January and February too, when all the lambing is coming on.”
He did not want to distress Bertha, but really half his lambs would die if he were not there to superintend their entrance into this wicked world.
“But you must go,” said Bertha. “I’ve set my heart upon it.”
He looked down for a while, rather unhappily.
“Wouldn’t a month do?” he asked. “I’ll do anything you really want, Bertha.”
But his obvious dislike to the suggestion cut Bertha’s heart. She was only inclined to be stubborn when she saw he might resist her; and his first word of surrender made her veer round penitently.
“What a selfish beast I am!” she said. “I don’t want to make you miserable, Eddie. I thought it would please you to go abroad, and I’d planned it all so well.... But we won’t go; I hate Italy. Let’s just go up to town for a fortnight, like two country bumpkins.”